Don't Wanna Miss a Thing
by deGorgeous
Summary: Feeling out of touch with her daughter, Snow goes to Hook to tell her about one very special moment. A (sort of) extension to Remember That. Based loosely on the promo pics for 4x12.


She's only ever seen her daughter smile like this once before. Snow can still remember the day Emma had decided to stay in Storybrooke permanently, the way relief had washed over her and joy filled her heart at knowing they would all be together. And while her husband and grandson had been fixated on the alias Emma had chosen on her adventure into the past, Snow's attention had been focused on the book's newest illustration. The way Emma's eyes were lit up, her face upturned, cheeks flushed and taut. The way she looked at her first ball.

(And even then the recipient had been the same.)

It was an image Snow had been tempted to rip right out of the storybook and frame so she could look at it always, or maybe even put in a scrapbook next to her Polaroid of Emma's first real date. There is a common denominator in both instances, and he is currently sitting at the far end of the diner.

She watches as Emma gets up from her seat next to him, Hook making to get up (ever the courteous relic) as she pecks him on the lips and says something before heading over to Henry and Regina at the counter. His eyes linger on her long after she's gone and there are remnants of a smile on his face, too. It's been weeks since Gold's departure from town (as well as Robin's, she thinks solemnly as she glances over at Regina's depleted posture. "We'll find him," Emma states reassuringly, and there's a burst of pride Snow feels at Emma's confident optimism), and the couple has been practically inseparable.

Snow is hardly surprised at their new closeness. She was there when they had arrived at the clock tower and witnessed firsthand how close Hook's heart came to being crushed right in front of her daughter's eyes. She recalls with acute clarity Emma's reaction after Belle and Gold disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, how she jetted up the stairs and into Hook's welcoming arms. She doesn't talk about it, but Snow understands nonetheless. Charming had reacted in a similar fashion when she had confessed to surrendering her heart at Regina's doorstep after Cora's demise. He had held her so tightly then, his breath ragged and shaken, and she can sympathize.

But there's more to their growing intimacy than fear of loss. Emma's smiles are far less elusive, her heart so much more open to every cherished member of their family. There's a lightness about her that makes Snow think of the life they would have had if the original curse hadn't been cast; if she and David had raised their baby girl in the safety and warmth of their kingdom; if Emma had never endured the loneliness and hardship that followed their separation.

And she _misses_ it. Can't get enough of seeing Emma so consistently jubilant. She stays by the loft less and less these days, usually only coming home to sleep (and she_ has_ come home, every night, as Charming is ready to confirm). She's either researching with Regina and Henry — something about an _Operation Mongoose_ and _happy endings for everyone_ — or right by Hook's side whenever she's not at the station, and Snow doesn't want to miss a single moment.

(She's already missed so much. Emma's been engaged, had a whole life in New York that she knows next to nothing about. Emma has an entire box filled with childhood memories that Snow's barely seen the inside of, but _he_ has. _He_ knows.)

Snow leaves infant Neal with Ruby, who is far too enamored by the sleeping bundle to ask where she's going. As she walks over to his table, she sees him put down his glass tankard and whip at his mouth with his thumb. She takes the empty seat to the right and leans her elbows atop the red and white table cloth.

"You two have been spending a lot of time together lately," she teases, and Hook stiffens at her greeting, her attempt at a casual tone seeming to have failed.

"Aye, apologies," he says, head hung low with a self-conscious smirk. "I hadn't meant to—"

"No, it's good," she amends hurriedly, her voice gentle but insistent. Hook looks up at her then, eyebrows high on his forehead and mouth open. He's clearly surprised by her words — and her flustered delivery — although he really shouldn't be. But their relationship has always been rocky at best despite his recent integration into their lives. She can't fault him for the reaction.

"You two," Snow continues, more assuredly. "You're good together. You've been through a lot together." She pauses, noticing Hook's skepticism is still very much present. He scans her face, trying to read her, but the tension that always seems to exist between them remains. So she takes in a deep breath and slants towards him fractionally before admitting: "When Emma first came to Storybrooke, she wasn't… well, she wasn't the easiest person to get to know. Cutting down people's trees, even got arrested a couple of times."

Hook chuckles at that. "Certainly sounds like her," he comments before taking a swig of his ale.

"But she and I, we were friends. Really close friends, actually. Probably best friends." She feels as though she's rambling, and maybe she is, but the conversation has taken on a relaxed tone. Snow's learning to trust the former pirate captain, much like her daughter (and husband, for that matter) has already decided to do. And her candor is rewarded with his sincere attentiveness. The man in a good listener, she'll give him that. "I think, now, you're probably that for her."

"What's that?"

"The one she goes to first. Her _person_." The concept is foreign to him, she can tell, but he gets the gist of it and can't fight the grin that escapes him. He scratches behind his ear but says nothing in protest nor agreement. "I feel like you probably know her better than anyone else."

Snow does her best to conceal the sadness behind the statement but Hook is perceptive to her change in mood. He regards her more seriously — or, at least, she feels him doing so as she has since averted her eyes and taken to adjusting the sleeves of her sweater.

"What would you like to know?"

And just like that, he makes it easy for her. Snow wants to reject his offer, pretend like that wasn't her main reason for approaching him in the first place. But she'll not insult his intelligence, or reject his kindness. She won't undo what ever progress they've made.

So she asks him straight out. "What was it like? At her first ball, watching her dance? What was _she_ like?"

Hook leans back in his chair, ringed fingers tapping against his cup in contemplation. There's mirth in his expression, like he's reliving the memory in great detail just for her benefit (or perhaps, she suspects, because it's a moment he himself has locked away and revisited on more than one occasion).

"She was absolutely stunning," he breathes, gaze landing on her for approval. Snow remembers a time when he'd comment on Emma's _gumption _without a second thought, yet now he seems to very much want to be on her parents' good side. She nods enthusiastically because _of course_ Emma was stunning; _of course _her little girl would be beautiful and radiant and everything she had imagined.

"She hadn't wanted to dance at first," he goes on, "but once we started, she was a natural. A real princess if I ever saw one." It doesn't take much effort for her to envision it: Emma dancing the waltz with a regal stubbornness she's only ever seen Charming master. Snow smiles broadly, the corners of her mouth stretching almost painfully as he describes more of the scene for her, sometimes veering off with jabs at the cooking or decoration but always going back to Emma.

"You taught her how to dance?" she asks, though it's more of a statement than a question.

"I suppose I did," he says after a beat, looking back down. Snow's impressed by his restraint, half expecting him to spew some innuendo (although she can't think of any clever joke he could even make, she wouldn't put it past him to conjure one up), but knows the presumption to be unfair. He's not the same man they once knew. He's earned more respect from her than that.

"And where'd you learn how to dance?"

"I wasn't always a pirate, milady." He tips his mug in her direction before taking another sip and she can see now that he drinks as a form of distraction, to give himself something to do when he's feeling uncomfortable.

(He's not the only one who's perceptive.)

"Didn't you once say you'd always been a pirate?" She teases him again, but with better luck this time. He laughs with her, his departure from their group upon being thrust back to the Enchanted Forest fresh in both their minds, and it feels like a lifetime ago. "I guess that's not such a bad thing."

With that, Snow leaves the table, patting Hook's arm as she does. He's startled by the gesture and her last admission, so much so that he only manages to stand up when she's already taken a few steps down the aisle.

Before returning to the booth where Ruby and her son are waiting, she turns back, cants her head and whispers, "Thank you, _Killian_."

His true name tastes strange on her tongue, but she figures she'll have to get used to it eventually. He's not going anywhere.

.


End file.
